<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Repair by PrussianPants</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755015">Repair</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrussianPants/pseuds/PrussianPants'>PrussianPants</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who, Doctor Who &amp; Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Crack Treated Seriously, Eventual Romance, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Past Rape/Non-con, Regeneration, Roommates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:42:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755015</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrussianPants/pseuds/PrussianPants</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Greysoc didn't exactly mean to let the TARDIS kidnap them, but they weren't exactly going to complain about it. They were a lowly TARDIS repair technician, it wasn't like anyone would miss them. </p>
<p>Now, they're stuck on Earth and can't go back to Gallifrey because, somehow, it's not there anymore. Time to adapt.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ianto Jones/Original Character(s), Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones/Original Character(s), Jack Harkness/Original Character(s), The Doctor's TARDIS &amp; Original Character(s), The Master (Doctor Who) &amp; Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing about TARDISes is that they have minds of their own. They’re sentient; they have personalities, convictions…sass. No one ever seems to realize it though. All anyone ever chooses to see is a vehicle for ‘Time and Relative Dimensions in Space’.</p>
<p>Ever since Greysoc was loomed, they knew that there was something special about TARDISes. From the original Type 1 built by the Scientific Elders, to the Type 40’s ability to keep other 40’s and earlier models from dematerializing, to all the amazing advancements of the later models.</p>
<p>Working as a TARDIS repair technician was essentially being a TARDIS doctor. You had to know all the basic biology of the TARDIS and all the abnormalities found in different models. You had to be familiar with the Chameleon Circuit, Time Path Detector, Time Column (or if you prefer, Time Rotor), and so on that made up all the inner workings, along with all the specific upgrades that were unique to each model.</p>
<p>There is a uniqueness to each TARDIS just as every being is unique in their own way. One TARDIS may prefer that the technician do repair work to a Secondary Control Room before repairing the Primary one. Another may be skittish and want their pilot to be present the entire time a technician is working. A Type 38 may shock you every time you make a wrong move when working with the innards. A Type 53 may not open its doors no matter how much you try to unlock it by touching the damn key to its exterior sensor plate, and when it does finally decide to fucking cooperate, you had to get through the tiniest main door of any TARDIS ever.</p>
<p>It may not be a glamorous life like being a member of the High Council, but Greysoc had wanted to work with TARDISes since the moment they first set their eyes on one. Luckily, as a member of House Dvora, personal interests were always encouraged. As a proclaimed Newblood House, Dvora wasn’t as traditional and set in their ways as the Oldblood Houses like Lungbarrow were.</p>
<p>So, despite not having a high position like being President unlike fellow members of House Dvora (notably the War King, the Imperator, and Romana who all had impressive runs of being in charge), Greysoc’s passion had never been ignored. Older members of the House often passed Greysoc the manuals to their own TARDISes if they had one, and Ushas and Koschei had let them experiment with fixing the two Time Lord’s own TARDISes even though Greysoc was a good bit younger than the two and not related. It was an odd friendship by Gallifreyan standards.</p>
<p>After the Academy, Greysoc followed their passion for TARDISes and got their dream job. Everything was wonderful for a good long stretch. Of course, things had changed. Koschei was pretty much going out of his way to try and become public enemy number one, with Ushas aiming for number two. The havoc those two brought wherever they went was astonishing.</p>
<p>Greysoc was lucky they hadn’t been in their year at the Academy. Therefore, despite Greysoc’s academic success, they weren’t a member of the Deca. The extremist progressive-group had gotten a lot of unwanted attention from the government despite being comprised of ten Academy students. The High Council didn’t take well to any threat against their power and the group should’ve known better than to blatantly go against them. Greysoc was just lucky they hadn’t been affiliated with Koschei or Ushas in any official or traceable capacity. Their TARDISes’ repairs were done in random fields on Gallifrey after either of the two had kidnapped their favorite little technician, not that Greysoc was complaining.</p>
<p>None of the Dvora members were going to snitch on the trio’s friendship, either. Dvora’s don’t snitch. Greysoc didn’t even know if anyone knew that they knew the two (excluding possible fellow House members). The Celestial Intervention Agency would have probably come to question them if the CIA knew of Greysoc’s friendship with the two Time Lords. </p>
<p>Nevertheless, Greysoc managed to stay out of trouble and live a fulfilling life and work on their beloved TARDISes as a repair technician.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been an astonishingly typical day on Gallifrey that Greysoc ran into a temperamental TARDIS. They had already handled a few work orders that morning and been lucky enough to fully enjoy their lunch break at their favorite restaurant. The temperamental ship came to Greysoc’s attention during the second half of their workday. The others at the shop had complained about how the TARDIS wouldn’t let anyone in, and as the nicknamed ‘TARDIS whisperer,’ it was up to Greysoc to crack it open.</p>
<p>Greysoc couldn’t blame the Type 89 for being so uncooperative though. It was on the books to be scrapped under the command of the High Council. Only two of this particular version had been grown and the other was apparently, already destroyed because of something that Koschei was involved with. Greysoc barely restrained themself from rolling their eyes. Of course, it was Koschei’s fault.</p>
<p>Under the work order was something about the possibility of the two Type 89 TARDISes combined ability to enter Gallifrey’s Relative Past despite the Back-Time Field Buffers that were in place for the planet. Or at least there was some theory about it. Well, that explained the order for Lord Dorvios’ TARDIS to be scrapped.</p>
<p>Except it didn’t, because if that theory and capability required both the 89’s and one was already destroyed, why did the one survivor need to be decommissioned as well?</p>
<p>Greysoc sighed and looked around. Lord Dorvios hadn’t even shown up with his TARDIS, he just let it be shipped in by itself. Greysoc huffed in frustration. He didn’t even have the decency to be here with his TARDIS when it was about to, essentially, be put down. The TARDIS wasn’t even horrendously damaged or in pain and they were ordering a decommission. Greysoc didn’t even like seeing irreparable TARDISes scrapped. Some were, of course, left so damaged that they would psychically scream in pain until someone finally granted them a mercy killing, but if they could contently live out their lives somewhere instead of being decommissioned? Greysoc always preferred that much more.</p>
<p>However, Greysoc was a bit more sensitive to the whole scrapping issue in general. Apparently, they were one of the Time Lords that was more naturally attuned to the psychic presence of beings, TARDISes included. Not an unheard-of ability, about 1 in every 17 Gallifreyans was more psychically aware than most of the others. It was part of why the guys at the shop had nicknamed Greysoc the ‘TARDIS whisperer.’ And why they could hear the psychic screaming of TARDISes in pain. Despite the cons, it did allow them to have a knack for talking to TARDISes. It definitely helps, being able to know what the ship has damaged in order to help fix it.</p>
<p>It’s part of the reason why they decided their title was going to be the Mechanic.</p>
<p>As far as Time Lord titles go, it’s not pretentious at all. (Hello? Koschei naming himself <em>the Master? </em>Ushas wasn’t much better naming herself the Rani.)</p>
<p>Comparatively, the Mechanic was a rather humble title. Greysoc liked being humble. Sure, they were a Time Lord and whatnot, didn’t mean they had to rub it in everybody’s face or were out to prove something. Greysoc knew what they were worth, and that’s all that mattered.</p>
<p>Besides, Greysoc had always been inclined towards fixing things. They had tinkered since they were a tiny time tot, straight out of the loom. Inanimate objects, animate objects, sentient beings, insentient things, situations that arose, injuries, didn’t matter – they just liked fixing things up.</p>
<p>That had made them a bit odd among House Dvora. Dvora had a rather consistent reputation of being icy and untouchable, but able to feign any emotion. Greysoc could be that if they needed to, but they preferred the other aspects Dvora was known for: practicality, efficiency…</p>
<p>Being unstoppable.</p>
<p>Back to the case of the most troublesome TARDIS, Greysoc grabbed their usual toolbox and headed to the bay that the 89 had been put in at the shop. It would be with a heavy set of hearts that they did this but orders from the High Council aren’t lightly ignored if one doesn’t wish to disappear in the dead of night for speaking against whoever the current Lord/Lady President was. Greysoc didn’t bother keeping up, they were all generally the same anyway so there was no point.</p>
<p>Not that they had actually been alive long enough to see many presidents. By Gallifreyan standards, Greysoc barely scraped being a legal adult actually.</p>
<p>Greysoc approached the 89 and very nearly started tearing up. The Chameleon Circuit was still fully functional and the TARDIS had disguised itself as the saddest looking warehouse locker. It was scared.</p>
<p>Greysoc hated this part of their job.</p>
<p>With pursed lips, Greysoc hit the switch for the privacy filter that came standard in each bay. It blocked outside psychic connections so not everyone working or in the vicinity had to pull up additional mental fields to block out anything a TARDIS may project in its final moments. The filter didn’t do anything for the person working on the TARDIS though. Greysoc would have to endure whatever the 89 threw at them.</p>
<p>The Mechanic gently approached with toolbox still in hand. Their hearts clenched in their chest as they got closer. It was just the 89 and the Mechanic now. The quiet, but unmistakable feeling of a whimper passed between the two. Greysoc couldn’t tell which of them it had come from. It seemed they were both rather distressed by the situation.</p>
<p>They took a breath and tried to prepare themself before reaching out psychically. “<em>Hello. I’m the Mechanic.</em>” Greysoc started softly.</p>
<p>A jumbled response reached out – Greysoc took a moment to decipher it. “<em>Mechanic. An artisan, technician or skilled tradesperson who builds or repairs machinery. Technician. Repairman. Machinist. To fix. To repair. To better.</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes.</em>” The Mechanic affirmed, hesitantly. Guiltily. This was why they hated decommissioning TARDISes. It wasn’t a task they had ever intended to partake in when they took their title upon graduation from the Academy. The 89 had summed up the intentions behind the title they chose thoroughly.</p>
<p>The Type 89 TARDIS reached out more clearly. The two were new to each other; it would take time they didn’t have to build an immediate and clear understanding of one another. It took another moment to decipher. The 89 had sent them a general diagnostic of itself. Greysoc had to firmly press their lips together to maintain their physical silence. A sob had almost broken through. It was trying to help. Did it even know what it was here for? It had to; people rarely acknowledge their sentience enough to keep their mouths shut around them.</p>
<p>The Mechanic gently caressed the TARDIS with their free hand, the right one still clutching the toolbox. They reached out again. “<em>Do you know why your pilot sent you here?</em>”</p>
<p>The TARDIS seemed to pause. Greysoc’s brows furrowed. “<em>Pilot?</em>” The TARDIS responded.</p>
<p>“<em>Your Time Lord. Lord Dorvios?</em>” Greysoc was a bit concerned, a TARDIS always recognizes its pilot. Perhaps by a different name or term, but it should quite clearly know who flew it.</p>
<p>A set of feelings hit Greysoc this time, more impressions than communication. Irritation, an almost audible huff. The Mechanic responded in kind, probing with curiosity and patience.</p>
<p>The TARDIS paused for another moment before deciding to clarify. “<em>Not mine. Not my Time Lord.</em>” It took Greysoc another moment before they recognized the impressions that had been added to the clarification.</p>
<p>Resentment.</p>
<p>Loneliness.</p>
<p>The Mechanic breathed in sharply before shutting their eyes. Their head dropped forward to rest gently on the TARDIS’ currently metal exterior. Lord Dorvios hadn’t even formed an actual bond with the TARDIS yet. That explained why he hadn’t come, nor fought against the High Council’s decision. There would have been far more paperwork if he had. The Mechanic swallowed. The 89 was so young in TARDIS terms, it hadn’t even gotten a real pilot yet. No one to communicate with, travel with, and its twin had already been destroyed and now it was expected to die as well, never having gotten to experience anything in the greater universe. A shuddering breath passed through Greysoc’s lips as they continued soothing strokes along the 89’s exterior. They sent their own impressions to the TARDIS. They couldn’t formulate any words, psychic or aloud that would be able to express the depth of their sorrow and apology.</p>
<p>The Mechanic allowed the impressions to lay between the two of them for a moment before pressing. “<em>Do you know why you’re here?</em>”</p>
<p>A hum of confirmation. “<em>Orders. Commands. Could not refuse, would not refuse. Not his TARDIS. ‘An acceptable, if unfortunate loss. Oh well.’</em>”</p>
<p>A pause occurred before the TARDIS continued. “<em>Not my Time Lord. Yes, understood. Decommission. No chance for retirement.</em>” Greysoc’s hand clenched against the metal exterior. A portion of that was a quote, likely from Dorvios himself. They were sorely tempted to make a house call and send Dorvios into his next regeneration.</p>
<p>The Mechanic spread their psychic plane wider to better encompass the TARDIS’ presence – the general equivalent of a hug. The Mechanic set more impressions between the two: anger, sorrow, regret. “<em>I’m so sorry.</em>”</p>
<p>The TARDIS graciously accepted the sentiments before gently probing the Mechanic back. “<em>Orders?</em>” The TARDIS tentatively inquired.</p>
<p>Greysoc swallowed roughly before confirming. “<em>Orders.</em>”</p>
<p>The TARDIS hummed. A moment of contemplation.</p>
<p>The Mechanic took a step back to allow the metal front of the warehouse lockers to gently swing open, unimpeded. A single solitary tear slid down their face, which they harshly wiped away. Rassilon, they hated this so. Fucking. Much.</p>
<p>The Mechanic took a deep breath before shaking off the emotions and pulling themself together; crying wouldn’t help anything, it never did.</p>
<p>Two brave steps forward and the Mechanic was in the Primary Control Room. The door shut softly behind them as they evaluated their surroundings. The Time Column was prominently displaying as usual, and the current desktop was one of Greysoc’s personal favorites. It had only been designed for the Type 76 onward.</p>
<p>The Time Column looked like an Edison filament bulb. It was clear, sleek, and flared out drastically when meeting the vaulted ceiling. The Column tapered down to fit into a hexagonal console that left ample foot space under the controls so you could sit and navigate at the same time. The pilot’s seat was matte black, plush, and optimal for reducing back pain. The chair also reclined. The console was on an elevated, grated platform. It was only about a foot and a half off the ground, but it still had a regular metal guard rail so no one would stumble off. The main floor under the grate was bisected. Half of it was a smooth concrete while non-reflective polycarbonate sheeting covered the other portion, allowing a look down into the wiring and black pipes that the concrete was covering on the other side; it was pure aesthetic, the pipes and wires didn’t do anything, but the Mechanic loved the look. There was plenty of space between the main floor and the elevated platform that you could work on a mechanic’s creeper and open the technician panels for the console which were under the grate.</p>
<p>The walls were made of mismatched, industrial, metal paneling which looked more rugged than pristine as it was blackened, hot rolled steel. The soft, yellowed light from the Time Column illuminated the room well.</p>
<p>It was magnificent. “<em>You’re beautiful.</em>”</p>
<p>The TARDIS tittered. “<em>Preferable?”</em> It asked slyly.</p>
<p>Greysoc gave a bashful grin. “<em>Very.”</em> They responded as they moved up the steps to the elevated platform. Approaching the Time Column, the Mechanic softly brushed the matte, gunmetal grey of the console before setting their usual toolbox in the pilot’s seat. It was almost exactly like when they had seen a TARDIS for the first time. The same feelings coursed through them now: awe, serenity, inspiration, joy, ecstasy.</p>
<p>Love.</p>
<p>The 89 and the Mechanic’s psychic link seemed clearer now as it didn’t take the same focus to share the impressions that it had in the beginning. The 89 was getting used to the new Time Lord’s mental and physical presence. A thought occurred to the Mechanic: had the 89 been able to discern which desktop they preferred through the link? Curiosity was sent.</p>
<p>Pride was returned. The TARDIS hummed in pleasure at being right in its assumption. “<em>A Garage worthy of a Mechanic.</em>”</p>
<p>The Mechanic laughed a little. That was confirmation that the TARDIS had changed the look of itself to their tastes. It was absolutely incredible. “<em>You’re amazing! I’ve always loved a good garage.</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes.</em>” The 89 confirmed.</p>
<p>More laughter burst from Greysoc.</p>
<p>“<em>More?</em>” The 89 inquired, lighting up a doorway. The metal grate of the platform had some extended walkways that went to doors, there were four in total. The first was level with the platform while the one next to it was a couple steps up. The third was a bit higher than the second, and the fourth was, evidently, the highest. Both the stairs leading to the four doors and the ones that let you get onto the platform in the first place were made of the same grating and railing that the platform itself had.</p>
<p>Greysoc bit their lip. They had a job to do.</p>
<p>“<em>Orders</em>…” The Mechanic trialed off with a sigh, their face contorted into a grimace. The TARDIS’ lights dimmed.</p>
<p>The Time Lord made sure to emphasize their sadness and apologies. High Council be damned, they <b>hated</b> this part of their job. Greysoc was going to get supremely inebriated after this was over with.</p>
<p>The Time Rotors started to flux in movement.</p>
<p>“<em>Mechanic?</em>”</p>
<p>Greysoc turned their attention back to the TARDIS. “<em>Yes?</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>‘I’m so sorry.’ Clarify? Define.</em>” The TARDIS requested.</p>
<p>The Mechanic’s shoulders hunched, and they clenched their jaw. “<em>My orders are to decommission you. I regret having to do so. Highly regret. That’s why I said, ‘I’m so sorry.’</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Decommission, yes. But how?</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Usually, the priority deactivation code. It allows me to ‘turn you off’ for lack of a better phrase.</em>”</p>
<p>The TARDIS paused. “<em>Why?</em>”</p>
<p>Greysoc was sorely tempted to murder the High Council. “<em>I have to. I received orders to.</em>” Greysoc was unsure if they were trying to convince the TARDIS or themself.</p>
<p>“<em>Have to?</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes.</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Want to?</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>No.</em>” Greysoc was forced to hold back sobs for the second time that day. “<em>Never. I’ve never wanted to be involved in scrapping TARDISes.</em>”</p>
<p>
  <em> “Alternatives?” </em>
</p>
<p><em> “None.” </em>Greysoc responded strongly. They had attempted to hide TARDISes before their scrapping in the past and had tried to convince officials that it had been decommissioned by one of the other technicians. No one could ever specifically pin it on Greysoc so they never received the backlash as it was attributed to a breakdown in communications; however, each attempt had failed and they had seen other technicians forced from the shop, fined greatly, or put on trial for less. As much as they hated it, the idea of being imprisoned or worse, never working with a TARDIS again, scared them far more.</p>
<p>The 89 didn’t say anything as it processed the Mechanic’s responses.</p>
<p>
  <em> “Must decommission because of orders? No alternatives?” </em>
</p>
<p><em> “Yes.” </em> The Mechanic confirmed tiredly.</p>
<p>The TARDIS hummed around them. <em>“Need more tools. More parts. Internal damage fixed before decommission, please?”</em></p>
<p>The Mechanic paused. The 89’s general diagnostic hadn’t shown anything, so it must be something fiddly that was damaged. Had one of the transporters done something? Well, it was going to be decommissioned, probably didn’t want to ‘waste parts’ and didn’t bother reporting the incident. Greysoc shut their eyes in disappointment and aggravation, Gallifreyans could be so fucking rude sometimes.</p>
<p>It was a simple request. Really, it was the least the Mechanic could do. <em>“Yeah, I can do that.”</em></p>
<p>As Greysoc moved down the stairs to the front of the TARDIS, the 89 reached out again. <em>“Mechanic? Kind. A ‘last request?’”</em></p>
<p>They paused in the doorway. <em>“Yes?”</em></p>
<p>
  <em> “The Mechanic is kind. Visuals and audio explanation. Who is the Mechanic?” </em>
</p>
<p>Greysoc tilted their head in consideration. Visual and audio explanation? <em>“Autobiography?” </em>The Mechanic clarified. <em>“You want to hear about my life.”</em></p>
<p><em> “To understand.” </em>The 89 justified.</p>
<p>The Mechanic’s eyebrows furrowed. <em>“Okay. Simple enough.”</em></p>
<p><em> “With visuals.” </em>The 89 reminded rather firmly.</p>
<p>Greysoc huffed. Someone was bossy. “<em>With visuals.”</em> Greysoc reassured the TARDIS. They found it rather odd that the TARDIS wanted to see their personal effects and hear their story. Perhaps they wanted to understand kindness? The 89 had mentioned it a bit. But really, who was the Mechanic to not grant a last request or two to a gorgeous TARDIS that was essentially on its deathbed. Greysoc cringed, that was rather tasteless of them. Today’s been unexpectedly emotional though, they would forgive themself for a lack of tact.</p>
<p>The Mechanic brusquely retreated out of the TARDIS and back into the shop. If there was unknown internal damage, then they would need to be prepped for whatever it could be. After all, who knows what had been done with the poor thing. The Mechanic grabbed a larger dimensionally transcendental toolbox than their usual one. Greysoc had been intending to put together a larger kit to account for tough jobs, but just had never gotten around to it. They typically just preferred their old one as it was what they were used to, but now was as good a time as any to put together a bigger one. They loaded the kit with anything they could think of, multiple duplicates of essential parts that could be modified as needed; they were unsure if the issues were in the Primary Control Room or any of the Secondary or Tertiary ones. Pipes, valves, nuts, bolts, anything and everything, in multiple number. Wrenches, screwdrivers, sonic and not. Several complex tools were also thrown in that really should’ve been in the Mechanic’s usual toolbox if they were to be truthful.</p>
<p>After the Mechanic’s kleptomaniac tendencies were absolved, the bay they were in was much less full than it had been at the start of this job. Deciding that it was good enough, the Mechanic popped back into the TARDIS and dropped off the second toolbox just inside the door. <em>“I’ve got to go find you some visuals for my audible explanation. Be back in a bit.”</em></p>
<p>The TARDIS hummed warmly and sent approval to Greysoc. Greysoc huffed again, cheeky TARDIS. The Time Lord went off to do the TARDIS' bidding. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>